


Exploring the Manscape

by stellarbisexual



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Esthetician Eddie AU, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rimming, Romantic Comedy, Smut, Waxing, borderline cracky I'd say, strong on the comedy, this fic is pretty ridic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarbisexual/pseuds/stellarbisexual
Summary: Stan bets Richie he can't handle the pain of waxing.  Thankfully, Richie's esthetician Eddie has a gentle touch.





	Exploring the Manscape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinyarmedtrex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyarmedtrex/gifts).



> I apologize profusely for this title, but I had no idea what to call this ridiculous fic.

It had all started with some innocuous teasing.  Richie’s oldest friend Stan had yanked on the dark strands of hair stretching over his wrist over casual drinks at their favorite gay bar and said, “No wonder you aren’t getting any.  No person--of any gender--is brave enough to work their way through this jungle.”

Before Stan’s boyfriend Mike could hold him back, Richie was draining his Long Island iced tea, slamming the empty glass on the bartop, and pointing a finger in his face.  “Hey: I’m an otter, motherfucker. These gorgeous pelts have gotten no complaints.”

Mike lays a graceful, gentle hand on Richie’s hairy forearm to pacify him.  “He’s just mad because he’s been waxing since he was eighteen--” Stan puts down his drink, too, and attempts to lay _his_ hand over Mike’s mouth--unsuccessfully.  Mike’s too strong. “--and is too paranoid to stop.”

“Be that as it may,” Stan concedes, turning back to Richie, “there’s no way you could take the pain of waxing, so.”

Richie’s (thick) eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  “Ex-squeeze me? Stanny--”

“I’ve seen you with a papercut.  Embarrassing.” He shrugs, a little drunk and a lot sassy.  “So. You’re fucked, my hirsute, single friend.”

Cut to a week later, and Richie is pacing a hole in his living room rug waiting for his at-home esthetician to arrive.  Eddie--’my wax guy,’ as Richie has taken to referring to him--has a reputation for catering almost exclusively to men and offers home visits since he knows discretion is important to most guys receiving his services.  He’d patiently answered every one of Richie’s questions over the phone the day before in a pleasant chirp of a voice:

_Yes, it does hurt a bit. But I’m quick, and it’ll hurt way less the second time because you’ll have less hair there._

_No, I don’t use a tweezer on stray hairs.  That’s inhuman._

_No, I don’t_ have _to wax your balls if you don’t want me to.  You can be as specific as you want._

Richie plans to be specific, all right.  Specifically, he wants Eddie to clean things up around his shaft and take everything off his back and his butt--including “the butt strip,” or the area between his cheeks, just to shut Stan up.  From what he’s read online and from what his roommate Beverly’s told him, the butt cheeks themselves aren’t painful at all, so that won’t impress Stan. _The butthole, on the other hand_ , she’d said, blowing a dramatic exhale through her lips.   _Though that’s nothing compared to the inner labia, so consider yourself lucky._ Then she’d pinched him on one of said butt cheeks and told him, _Buck up, buttercup!  Don’t be a pussy._

Her voice echoes in his brain as the buzzer to their apartment goes off.  Richie half-considers just not answering it, pretending he forgot about the appointment and isn’t home.  But then he remembers the smug look on Stan’s face and strides over to the intercom, his thumb making the decision for him and pressing the button so hard it nearly jams.

Richie wipes his palms on his sweatpants as he listens to Eddie painstakingly make his way up the three flights to their place, finally pulling the door open at the sound of awkward clunking along the stairwell.  When he shuffles out into the hall and peers over the bannister to the next landing, all he can see is half of a folded up table, like something a masseuse would use. “ _Hey_ ,” he says, rushing down to meet him.  “Lemme help you with that.”

The table comes down on one of the stairs to rest, revealing an out of breath--and truly, obscenely fucking cute--Eddie.  “Thanks,” he says, pushing an errant wave of brown hair back from his face and giving Richie a bright smile that almost makes him lose his footing and totally bite it, taking the both of them _and_ the table down the stairs.  Eddie extends his left hand, the only free one, to him.  “Richie? Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Richie replies, blinking dumbly at Eddie’s big, inviting brown eyes and finally taking his hand, small, neat, and warm, in his own.  “Holy fuck.”

Eddie lets out a brief, melodic laugh.  “... _Hi._ Eddie.”

“Yeah.  Jesus. Um.”

Those big eyes fill with worry.  “Are you having second thoughts already?”

Richie has to literally shake himself out of it.  “No, no. Just had my mouth in my foot. Lemme get that for ya.”  As he heaves Eddie’s table up off the stair, he hopes the power of love at first sight will give him superhuman strength.  It doesn’t.

Thankfully, Eddie’s quick, grabbing the back and supporting the brunt of its weight.  “Thank you. For a second, I thought you expected me to wax you in front of all your neighbors.”

“Not unless you plan on selling tickets,” Richie tosses over his shoulder through labored breath.  “I don’t show the goods to just anybody.”

“I’m honored,” Eddie chuckles.

There’s an awkward silence once they’re in the apartment and the door’s closed behind them, Eddie bracing both of his deft-looking hands over the side of his folded up table, and Richie feeling suddenly more self-conscious than he ever has in his life.  

Eddie finally clears his throat.  “So--”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Richie says, a little too loudly.  “How do we do this?”

After they mutually decide that Richie’s bedroom is probably going to be the most comfortable place for him, Eddie shoots off to get everything set up, and Richie’s left in the bathroom with a “modesty towel” and a stomach full of regret.  His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out: a text.

_So, did you cry?_

He can feel his mouth curl up in a playful little scowl.  “Fuck off, Stanley,” he mutters, tossing the phone next to one of the sink handles and whipping his pants off with a flourish.  

When he enters the bedroom, nothing but that towel around his waist, Eddie doesn’t look up from the pot of wax he’s stirring with a wide popsicle stick.  “So, who bet you you wouldn’t go through with it?”

Richie lets out a shock of a laugh.  “What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling,” Eddie smirks, finally looking up at Richie, taking a quick, clinical glance at his furry chest.  “Am I right?”

“... _Maaaaay-be_ .  But I _am_ also just super curious.  And I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a butt that doesn’t look like Bigfoot’s.”

Eddie’s nose crinkles when he snickers.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t mind a hairy butt.”

Richie audibly gulps.   _Holy shit._  

“So long as you don’t touch these,” Eddie says, abandoning the pot of wax and walking over to run a thumb over one of Richie’s eyebrows.  “They’re perfect.”

Richie tries not to melt to the floor on the spot.  He manages to raise one of said eyebrows. “I have no intention of messing with perfection, my little confection.”

Eddie snickers again, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.  “Okay, weirdo. Get on the table.”

“Yessir.”

“We’ll start with you on your back.”  

Richie complies, settling himself on the table, fingertips dancing along the tucked edges of the modesty towel.  

“I’ll move it around as I work,” Eddie says, then realizes how it sounded, his eyelids clenching shut.  “The towel.”

“Okay.”  Richie glances pointedly down at himself.  “Just don’t judge… based on this session. He’s nervous.”

“I’m not paying any attention to it, I promise.”  Eddie looks flustered again. “I mean, I’m paying _close_ attention to it.”  He grimaces. “I mean.”

Richie feels a soft smile take over the lower half of his face.  “Mission accomplished. I made you nervous, too. Now we’re two peas in a pod, Eds.”

Eddie lets out a playful huff.  “Smart.” He moves the towel aside a bit, tucking it strategically, and starts right in, spreading hot wax just to the left of where Richie’s dick starts.  “Now take a deep breath.”

Richie obeys, and as he exhales, he feels Eddie’s latex-covered fingertips lay a fabric strip over the wax.  

“One, two, three.”

_Rip._

Two days later, Richie settles smugly into the booth across from Stan and Mike at the bar, wiggling in the seat.  He’s still getting used to how it feels having absolutely no hair on his ass. He thinks he likes it.

“Hey!”  Mike offers him a warm smile and a bottle of Boddington’s.  “How was manscaping?”

“Did you cry like the big baby you are?”  Stan brings his own beer to his mouth for a pull.

“No,” Richie sighs dreamily.  “Because his touch was so gentle.”

Stan settles his bottle back down on the table, the corners of his mouth twitching.  “Oh no.”

“Gentlemen,” Richie declares.  “I’m in love. His name is Edward.  And he’s a feisty little entrepreneurial angel.”

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, laughing so hard his eyes tear up.  “You have a crush on _Eddie_?  That’s so perfect.”

“No, _he’s_ perfect.  And he’s going to make me his bride some day.  And if you’re going to be my matron of honor like we’ve been planning since we were in kindergarten, you’d better get on board, Stanley.”

“I fully support you in your passionate pursuit of hairless love together.  But unless you’ve already proposed, I’m guessing you won’t be seeing him for another five-to-six weeks.”

Richie and Mike look at him quizzically.

Stan rolls his eyes.  “The hair has to grow back before you can get another wax, doofus.”

Mike purses his lips before taking another drink.  “That explains your butt stubble weeks.” Stan smacks his arm.

“ _Fuck!_ ”  Richie drains nearly half his beer.  Then, he gasps. “Unless.”

“No.”  Stan shakes his head.

“My mama always said I’d look fetching in fishnets.”

Mike gasps.  “ _Noooooo._ ”  

Another two days later, Richie’s “helping” Eddie haul his table back up three flights of stairs.  

“So,” Eddie starts after Richie closes the door behind them.  “I usually try to respect my clients’ privacy, but what made you decide to get your legs waxed?”

“I’m doing this drag show.”  It’s out of Richie’s mouth before he can even think twice.  Or once.

Eddie looks skeptical--but amused.  “Really?”

“It’s for charity.”

Just then, Bev emerges from her bedroom, and before Richie can usher Eddie into _his_ bedroom, she’s introducing herself.  

“Ooh, is this the famous wax doctor?”

Richie bares his teeth at her in warning behind Eddie’s back as they shake hands.  

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says with a polite smile.

“Beverly.  I’ve heard such good things.  Mind if I watch you work?”

“Uh… as long as Richie’s okay with it.”

Richie shrugs, hands already playing at his belt.  “We live together. She’s seen way worse.”

“...O-kay.”  Eddie starts carrying the table off to Richie’s room.  “I’ll get set up. Underwear stays on this time,” he tells Richie.

“ _C’est la vie!_ ” Richie calls after him.  As soon as he’s out of earshot, he turns to Bev with a whine.  “Come _on_ , Bev.  I wants to get my flirt on.”

“Like my presence has ever stopped you.”  She takes a sip of her morning coffee as she brushes past, clearly eager to start interrogating Eddie.

Once Richie’s settled on the table--for the second time that week--Eddie’s asking a question that has Bev howling with laughter: “So, how long have you two been together?”

Richie takes in her doubled over form with a mock-sneer.  “You should be so lucky, Marsh.”

Eddie, Richie notices, brightens at this revelation.  “Oh I’m sorry, you’re not--?”

“Fuck no,” Bev wheezes, finally collecting herself.  “We’re practically brother and sister.” She pinches Richie’s side to punctuate her point.  “Plus,” she raises two fingers in a salute. “Card-carrying dyke.”

“Fun fact: the card gets you a twenty percent discount at your local Subaru dealer.”  Bev pinches Richie again. “ _Oww._  Y’know, despite having no nails, you pack a mean pinch, sister.”  He reaches toward her to retaliate, upsetting the table somewhat.

“Okay,” Eddie smiles, holding up a hand as he stirs his wax.  “I’m gonna have to ask you to behave yourself, or else I’ll end up accidentally waxing one of your toenails off.”

Richie folds his hands obediently over his stomach and bats his eyelashes.  “Yes, Edward. I’ll behave.”

Eddie makes a gagging sound.  “My mom calls me Edward.”

“Sorry,” Richie says sincerely, then reaches over to boop Eddie’s nose.  “Eds.”

Eddie blushes, taking a quick glance at Beverly before getting ready to apply the first line of wax.  “Guess I can’t talk you out of that one, huh? Okay, this should be a piece of cake after the other day.”

“Famous last words,” Bev stage whispers, holding her hand out for Richie to squeeze--which he does.  

“One, two, three.”

_Rip._

That weekend, Richie finds himself practically groveling at Stan’s feet.  “Come on, Stan! Please let me come to your Eddie appointment.”

“ _No._ You’re my best friend, but there have to be boundaries.”

“Please.  I have no interest in looking at your twig and berries.  I don’t even have to be in the room while he does it!” Richie passes his beer back and forth between his hands in a solo game of table hockey.  “Come _on_ , I’d do it for you.  I _did_ it for you!  Remember when you were too chickenshit to ask Mike out, so I went all middle school on his ass per your chickenshit instructions?  ‘Dear Mike, do you like Stan? Circle one: Yes--’”

Stan practically launches across the table, slapping a hand over Richie’s mouth.  Mike easily manhandles him back into the seat next to him. “I knew this clown had something to do with orchestrating all that.”  He presses a kiss just under Stan’s ear. “And I’m grateful.” He turns pointedly to Richie and shoots him a covert wink. “Thanks, Trashmouth.”

“De nada, Miguel.”  He smiles patiently at Stan, fingers interlaced on the tabletop.  

“ _Fine_.”  Stan waves his hand so violently, he almost knocks over a bunch of their empties.  “But Mike’s coming as backup.” He leans his head into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.  “To make sure you don’t do anything too unsavory.”

“Michael, you have my full permission to gag me and handcuff me to the sofa.”

“Kinky,” Mike chuckles, hand pushing through Stan’s curls.  

Stan mouths _I’ll fucking kill you_ to Richie.  

The next day, Richie’s sitting on Stan’s sofa gnawing on a pencap, both of his legs jiggling.  Mike settles a hand over his knee. “Take a breath or two, Rich. It’s going to be okay.”

“Do I look cute, though?”  He spits out the cap and juts out his bottom lip in a pout.  

Mike nods.  “Adorable. This is a great shirt.”  He fingers the bottom of Richie’s long-sleeved tee, a gift from his mom this past Christmas.  It’s cobalt blue, and she’d said it makes his eyes pop.

Just then, the doorbell rings.  Stan shuffles out from the bedroom in a robe.  “Coming!” He whispers to Richie on his way to the door: “Control yourself.”  Richie manages to blow a raspberry at him just before he swings the door open, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he hears Eddie’s sweet voice:

“ _He-ey_.”  

“Hi, Eddie.  Before you come in, I have to warn you: we’re not alone.”

“Oh?”  Eddie hefts the table over the threshold and settles it on the floor to rest, his eyes landing on Mike, then on Richie.  He does a double take, smiling. “ _Hi._ ”

“This is my Mike,” Stan says, giving his boyfriend a fond look as he rises to his feet to shake Eddie’s hand.  

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Eddie says, biting his lip, eyes sparkling as they land on Richie again.  

Stan points at Richie.  “And this is your hairiest customer on record, I think?”

“Beep beep, Stanley,” Richie says, eyes locked on Eddie’s.  “Hey, Eds. Long time no see.”

Eddie takes in his shirt, and Richie silently sends a prayer of thanks to his mother.  “Third time in a week. Aren’t you sick of me yet?”

“Never.  So long as you keep your hair-ripping hands to yourself.”

“You’re safe for today--but Stan isn’t, I’m afraid.”  Eddie finally tears his eyes away to address Stan. “Shall we?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t scream too loud; Mike and I are watching a movie.”

“Hey: I’ll scream as loud as I want.”  Stan tickles Mike’s side on his way to the bedroom.  “And _you’d_ better not complain.  You’re the reason I endure this.”

“I don’t care about your body hair, babe,” Mike giggles, batting him away.

“You’d care if I still had any.  Trust me.”

“Yeah, Mikey, you and your front teeth should be grateful!” Richie says it loud enough for Eddie and Stan to hear as they retreat to the bedroom.  

Stan whips around briefly, eyebrows raised.  “Too far.”

Richie hears Eddie cackling and smiles to himself.   _Success._

He doesn’t pay much attention to whatever he and Mike are watching on Netflix over the next half hour.  Instead, he tries to eavesdrop on Stan and Eddie’s muffled voices through two walls as much as he can, to no avail.

Eventually, Mike pokes his calf with one of his toes.  “So. You gonna pop the question today?”

“ _Shh!_ ”

“He can’t hear me in there.”

Richie takes a deep breath.  “I dunno. We’ll see if I have an opening.”

“I already talked to Stan; he’s gonna take care of it.”

“Huh?”

Before Mike can explain, Stan emerges from the bedroom, robe re-tied and looking slightly flushed, calling to Eddie about their next appointment.  Then, he gives Richie a pointed look. “Rich, can you walk Eddie to his car? I’m gonna get cleaned up.” He mouths _you’re welcome_ on his way to the bathroom.

Richie blows him kisses with both hands, then wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans before heading into the bedroom to see if Eddie needs any help packing up--but it looks like he already has it covered.  He bows to him. “May I take your table, good sir?”

“Sure,” Eddie smirks, twirling his keys with one hand and carrying the rest of his kit with the other.  “Thanks.” Richie follows, knowing entirely well just how much he looks like a puppy and not giving a shit.  “So I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Eddie says as they walk down the street to where his car is parked.  

“Shoot,” Richie breathes, shifting the giant table awkwardly to his other side, heart thundering in his chest again--and not just for the physical labor.  

“Have you ever thought about laser hair removal?”

_Not exactly the pickup line I was hoping for_ , he thinks ruefully.  “Can’t say’s I have,” he says, letting the table drop down to the sidewalk as Eddie pops the trunk.  

“Well,” Eddie hauls the table into the car easily, along with the kit.  “You’re a perfect candidate for it.” He turns back to Richie, petting the hair on his arm.  “Fair skin. Thick, dark hair.”

Richie tilts his head up to the sunny sky and squints in consideration.  “Ehhhh. With my luck, they’ll aim wrong and zap my balls clean off.”

Eddie chuckles.  “I can recommend someone who’ll take excellent care of your balls.”

Richie licks his lips, taking a chance.  “...But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you again.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Eddie says, smiling wide and pushing his hair out of his face.  “So _that’s_ why you waxed your legs.”  Richie improvises a little tap shuffle and flashes Eddie jazz hands.  “You could’ve just asked me out.”

“I thought showing you my dick was enough of a move,” Richie jokes, stalling.

“Well,” Eddie says, stepping closer.  “What if _I_ asked _you_ out?”

“YES.”

“Dinner Friday?”

“Classy,” Richie says, then leans in playfully.  “Liked the goods, didja?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Eddie shoots back, then rises up on his toes to press a soft kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth.

Richie watches as he rocks back onto his feet.  “Swoon.”

“Did you just say ‘swoon’ out loud?” Eddie laughs.

“ _NO._...Maybe.”

Friday at six finds Richie cycling through at least seven different outfits, Bev his audience of one, sprawled on the easy chair in their living room as he periodically pops out of his bedroom to pose for her.  She gives her feedback _Gladiator_ -style, finally flashing a thumbs up on his final ensemble: a Weird Al tee, a pair of dark jeans, and his red leather jacket (he calls it “Beat It” after the MJ video).  “It’s the most you,” she says with an encouraging smile. He moves to swap out his glasses for contacts, but she stops him, insisting they make his eyes all big and sparkly.  He gives her his best “Aw shucks” expression, and she practically kicks his ass out the door, shouting, “I won’t wait up!” after him.

He tries not to be too much of a basket case as he waits for Eddie at the bar, but he can’t stop fiddling with all the coasters, nearly launching one right at the bartender’s head.  He orders a Maker’s on the rocks and downs half of it before Eddie walks through the door, just a couple of minutes late. Richie jumps off the barstool, making it rock on its legs.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Eddie says, brows knitted.  “I had a client who decided to go full-body mid-wax, and it was just--”

“A hairy situation?” Richie makes his eyebrows jump.  

Eddie shakes his head.  “ _Oh my God._ ”

“‘Oh my God, I can’t believe how funny--and sexy--my date is’?”

“You’re pushing it, Tozier.”  Eddie’s smile undercuts his words.  

“Ooh, last name.  I like it.” He squeezes one of Eddie’s biceps and presses a kiss to his opposite cheek.  “You look great… and Jesus fucking Christ, you’re surprisingly jacked.”

“It’s hauling my fucking table up three flights of stairs for this super demanding client.  He just got into drag recently; it’s kind of a shitshow.”

“ _Wow._ ”

“You look great, too, Richie.”  Eddie runs a hand down the front of his jacket in appreciation.  “Really great.”

They decide to settle in at the bar and just have dinner there, which Richie loves, since it both takes some of the pressure off and ensures that they’re sitting all close, no furniture between them, knees brushing thighs.  There’s more flirtatious ribbing, which Richie’s quickly realizing is their specialty, until the food comes, at which point he asks the question he’s been dying to since the day they met:

“So how did you get into waxing people’s junk?”

“Um.”  Eddie takes a sip of his gin-and-ginger and licks his lips, going a bit red.  “It was sort of my sexual awakening, actually--or the start of it. Getting waxed,” he clarifies, “not waxing other people.”

“Was waxing me your second sexual awakening?”

Eddie slaps his arm playfully.  “Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to get introspective here.”

Richie leans in, resting his chin in his hand.  “Shutting the fuck up. Please go on with _The Sexual Awakening of Eddie Kaspbrak_.”

Eddie’s expression turns serious.  “I was really repressed, even into my twenties, mostly as a result of my mom.  Going away for college changed the scenery somewhat but it didn’t help much. I was still carrying her with me, even after I came to terms with who I am.  I was totally afraid of my own body, let alone touching someone else’s. My therapist actually recommended getting a massage, which I did, and the massage place had waxing services, so I took a leap.  The massage was great for intimacy, for being touched by someone else, but the waxing… I felt so sexy afterward. In a way I really didn’t expect. It sounds stupid, but it helped me love my body. I walked differently.  I started experimenting with how I dressed. It changed everything. And I wanted to give that experience to other people, men especially.”

The story, the way it changes Eddie’s voice and his face, leaves Richie a breathless idiot.  

“I also had a business degree, which helped me know how to get things off the ground.”  Eddie takes another drink. “I don’t even know what _you_ do,” he realizes out loud.

“Probably because it’s boring as fuck so I’ve never mentioned it.  I’m a tech consultant.”

From Eddie’s expression, it looks like the last thing he was expecting Richie to say.  “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Yeah,” Richie shrugs, somewhat bashful.  “I’ve always been good with computers, kind of self-taught--I didn’t even go to college, just got recruited straight out of high school, started working and decided to go off on my own a couple of years ago.  Which is _awesome._ I get to make my own hours and work from pretty much anywhere.”

Now Eddie’s the one who looks breathless.  “ _Wow._ ”

“Yep.”  Richie mimes dusting his shoulders off.  “I’m total Sugar Daddy material. NBD.” Eddie giggles, and Richie tucks back into his food.  “Okay, now for the most important question of the evening: do you wax yourself?”

Eddie rolls his eyes a little; obviously this turn in the conversation was a little more expected.  “No. I do yoga _sometimes_ , but I’m not that limber.”

“...But you _do_ still get waxed?”

Eddie coyly takes another bite of his steak.  “I thought you’d want that to be a surprise.”

Richie nearly chokes on his salmon.  “Check please.”

Eddie cackles, obviously pleased with himself.  

Just a half hour later, they’re walking back to Eddie’s place nearby, and Richie can’t fucking believe this is his life.  Eddie lives alone, his place neat and cozy, and as soon as they walk in, he puts on water for tea. Richie doesn’t drink tea, but he’ll take any goddamn thing Eddie offers him at this point, so long as it means extending the night longer.  As Eddie putters around the kitchen, Richie strolls around the living room and hall, taking in what little bits he can of him and his life. Eventually, Eddie calls to him, but it’s muffled.

Richie shuffles into the kitchen, shoeless (Eddie’s request).  “Huh?”

Eddie smirks, turning to him as he pulls two mugs down from one of the cabinets.  “I said, what kind of tea do you like? I don’t have a ton of choices right now, but.”  He gestures to a little yellow tin on the kitchen counter, its lid resting beside it, tea bags nearly spewing from its top.  He watches as Richie rifles through them. “You have a--. Can I--?” His fingertips hover near Richie’s left eye.

“You’ve literally been face to face with my asshole.”  Eddie looks at him expectantly. “Knock yourself out, Eds.”  He ducks down a bit to make it easier, and Eddie slides his thumb and forefinger across his eyebrow, picking out a piece of lint--imaginary or real, who the fuck knows?  And more importantly, who the fuck cares when Eddie’s so close they’re practically sharing breath? If Richie were writing a romance novel, he’d describe Eddie’s eyes as _molten caramel_ , his lips _two halves of a parted strawberry_ or some shit like that.  Eddie’s been doing the majority of the heavy lifting here, and he just has to make a move.  So he does, crowding him against the counter, holding his face in both hands, and capturing his lips with his own.  He feels Eddie’s deft little hands hook into the front pockets of his jeans, and when they part, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, wetting it as his eyes dart from Richie’s eyes to his mouth and back again.  “God, you’re fucking adorable,” Richie tells him, hands still bracketing his face.

Eddie lets out a little hum before promptly attacking him, pushing him against the kitchen island behind him in a gorgeous mess of hands and teeth and tongue.  He’s surprisingly strong--even after feeling his bicep earlier in the night--so much so that when he grips Richie’s hair and pins him with his hips, it results in metallic tumbling sounds in the cabinets underneath them.  They pull apart and laugh quietly against each other’s mouths, Eddie leaning his face against Richie’s shoulder. There’s still mirth in Eddie’s voice as he looks up at him. “Do you wanna go inside?”

“Probably safer,” Richie nods solemnly, and Eddie grabs his hand, pulling him through the hall toward his bedroom, where he pulls him down by the back of his neck and licks into his mouth in a way that nearly makes Richie’s knees buckle.  He grips the edge of the dresser behind Eddie for support, Eddie’s hands wandering up the back of his shirt and mapping the skin he catered to only days before. Richie pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it aside. “Easier access,” he smirks, and Eddie giggles, wrapping his hands around his waist and pulling their hips flush, upsetting the dresser.  Apparently they have a thing for endangering Eddie’s furniture, Richie thinks, his brain suddenly going offline as Eddie hooks his fingers into his belt loops and mouths over his jaw and down underneath his ear.

“Can I take your pants off?” Eddie asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Richie breathes.  “Yes to anything. Unless it’s strangling me to death and chopping up my lifeless body.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Eddie smiles as he unbuttons Richie’s fly.

“What _were_ you planning, pray tell?”  Richie presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheekbone.  

The brief pause before Eddie’s next words has Richie vibrating with impatience.  “I wanna admire my work.”

And that’s when Richie’s brain actually explodes.  He swears he can feel it happen right inside his skull.  He scrambles to take his pants off.

Eddie chuckles, stopping him.  “No, let me.”

They play-struggle and end up collapsing onto the mattress behind Richie, holding onto each other and cracking up.  

“Aw man,” Richie swipes a hand over his face.  “I totally ruined the Skinemax-worthy moment you were creating.”

“Didn’t ruin it,” Eddie says, finally lifting himself up so he’s hovering over Richie.  He brushes a soft kiss over his mouth, then over his chin, and works his way down, Richie melting into the duvet, arms tossed carelessly over his head.  He lets out an embarrassingly loud moan when Eddie reaches the trail of hair leading from his belly button under the waistband of his purple boxer briefs, tongue pushing a wide, wet path through it.  

He feels Eddie’s nose nuzzle down to the front of his briefs, hot breath ghosting over the bulge of his cock.  Richie inhales sharply, peeking down at Eddie’s fluffy hair and soft eyelashes and wet lips mouthing at him through his underwear.  “ _Shit._ ”  He combs Eddie’s hair out of his eyes with his fingers and watches his tongue slip out for a taste, moaning loud again before throwing his head back and clenching his eyes.  

Richie squirms, his jeans still clinging uncomfortably around his knees, and Eddie gets the message, yanking them down and off, along with Richie’s socks.  

Eddie stands there, still fully clothed, fingertips glancing over Richie’s hairless thighs.  “These might be the longest legs I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, I work out,” Richie retorts.  He pulses a hand in the air, then lets it drop back down to the bed.  “You get naked too.”

Eddie tilts his head back, nose crinkling as he laughs.  “You have a way with words, Richie Tozier.” He obediently unbuttons his shirt, Richie biting his lip and raising an eyebrow as his chest and stomach slowly make themselves known.  He pulls the two halves of the shirt apart, revealing strong, freckly shoulders.

“ _Ohhhh_ you’re pretty.”

“Thank you.”  Eddie starts working at his belt, too, Richie’s fingertips glancing over his stomach.  He slips it out from its loops and tosses it aside but doesn’t unbutton his jeans. “You’ll see why,” he says as he kneels on the floor and wraps his hands around the backs of Richie’s knees, pulling him further down the bed so he can push one of his thighs up and suck a line of bruises up the inside of it.  Without any hair there, Eddie’s lips and tongue can cover more of his skin, and his nerve endings still feel sensitive from being waxed just days before. It leaves his heart pounding in anticipation of what the rest of it’s going to feel like.

Eddie hooks his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pulls them gently down, eyes going dark as his cock springs free, flushed and already leaking at the tip.  But what happens next isn’t quite what Richie expects: after Eddie flings his boxer briefs playfully across the room, a blur of purple sailing in his peripheral vision, he throws both of Richie’s legs over his shoulders and pulls him even further down so his ass is practically hanging off the foot of the mattress.  He looks up at him. “Is this okay?” Richie nods vehemently. And then Eddie’s leaning into him so his thighs are practically vertical, and flattens his tongue from his hole all the way up over his taint.

“Oh _God_ .”  It feels like Richie’s body is instantly on fire, his face flushed.  He hasn’t had this done for him in a while, but he doesn’t remember it feeling nearly this fucking good.  If he thought his thighs were sensitive, his ass is a totally different story. He can feel Eddie’s hands slide up from his thighs to his hips, thumbs pushing through the hair under his navel as he lashes his tongue at him and then starts dipping it inside, not at all shy about it.  “ _Eddie._   _Fuck_ that’s good.”  The sounds coming from between his thighs are wet, sloppy, _dirty_ .  One of Eddie’s hands grips his thigh for purchase, the other wandering toward where he needs it most, getting a firm grip around his dick, thumb running up the underside and just underneath the crown, practically tongue-kissing him now.  “ _Baby baby baby_ ,” Richie babbles, and Eddie lets out a soft chuckle that makes his skin vibrate.  

He reaches down, gripping Eddie’s hair hard and whining as his tongue hits a particularly mind-melting rhythm, his other hand gripping the duvet just as hard.  “ _Fuck me_ ,” he breathes.  Eddie pauses, taking his hand off Richie’s dick so he can lick his palm, then redoubles his efforts,  jerking him in slow, hard strokes and wriggling his tongue inside of him. Richie realizes he’s going to come embarrassingly fast, and he does not fucking care.  He makes the mistake of looking down at Eddie’s head buried at the juncture of his legs, one hand clutching his thigh and the other wrapped around his cock, eating him out like his life depends on it, and he starts panting, muscles clenching.

Richie wraps a hand around Eddie’s, the one stroking his cock, and urges him to go a little faster, moaning helplessly as he spills over both their hands, thighs trembling, Eddie still licking at him as he rides it out.  He collapses, Eddie lowering his legs down so his feet rest on the floor, out of breath, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Eddie kisses the inside of his knee, hands stroking his calves.

He finally looks down at him with a dazed smile.  “I think I pulled every muscle in my neck just now.”

“Me too.”

A surprised laugh erupts from Richie’s mouth.  He sighs heavily, spent and feeling so fucking good he thinks he might float up to the ceiling any minute now.  “Just let me collect myself.”

Eddie flops onto the bed next to him.  “That’s okay. That’s all I wanted to do tonight.”

Richie looks at him, a little disappointed.  “Oh. ...Seriously?”

“Yeah.”  Eddie’s smile is soft.  “I was thinking about it all through dinner.  And even before then, a little bit.” He laughs at the stunned look on Richie’s face.  “Besides, there will be other dates. If you want.”

“Oh, Richie wants.”

Eddie lifts a thumb to the corner of Richie’s mouth.  “You have some…”

“You made me _drool_?  What kind of hairless sex demon are you?”

“The kind who knows very well what waxing does to your nerve endings.  And who has a thing for pretty blue eyes.” Eddie excuses himself, returning moments later with a couple of wet washcloths for Richie and a mouth that smells minty.  

Richie leans in, watching Eddie’s face as he wipes up his stomach.  

“You gonna swoon again?”

“‘M all swooned out, Eds.”  Eddie kisses him. “Then again, I might be able to dig up another swoon or two.”

“Can Richie stay?”

“Richie can stay.”

“Good.”


End file.
